


Répondez s'il vous plaît

by BroloresHays



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ambiguously Dark Ending, Cunnilingus, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Erotic Horror, F/F, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Mind Control, Sexual Obsession, Slut Shaming, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroloresHays/pseuds/BroloresHays
Summary: Bonnie wasn’t that shattered teenager anymore; she was a strong woman, successful, financially independent, and more beautiful than ever. She was determined to arrive at her ten-year reunion in a tailored satin dress with her head held high.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Vampire / Her Human Twin Sister
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Répondez s'il vous plaît

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts).



Bonnie Blair hadn’t set foot in Maiden Springs in over a decade. No one who knew her would wonder why, although no one _really_ knew her since she moved away, and that was by design. She’d needed a clean slate, someplace to heal. Someplace without the whispers, the curious looks, the barely-concealed pointing.

But Bonnie wasn’t that shattered teenager anymore; she was a strong woman, successful, financially independent, and more beautiful than ever. She was determined to arrive at her ten-year reunion in a tailored satin dress with her head held high.

She saw the ripple of recognition travel through the lobby as soon as she signed in. She knew people were gossipping already. She knew what they were saying:

The father abandoned the family, you know, right after it happened. He just couldn’t cope. The mother got hooked on pills, so the poor girl was all on her own before she even finished her senior year. She drove herself to her own graduation—parked three blocks away and walked, when her reserved spot was right by the stands. She accepted her diploma before we could decide whether to clap softer or louder, then she drove herself home. The next day, she packed up and moved out of Maiden Springs for good.

Or so I heard.

Maybe she subconsciously overheard someone mutter the name: Beatrice. Maybe being back at school was uncovering long-buried memories, especially seeing it all decked out in twinkle lights and streamers like this. But before she'd even pinned on her nametag, time already felt syrupy and slow. When she glanced out at the courtyard, she froze, captivated by an impossibly familiar face—sixteen years old, all-American, a fresh-faced debutante with wavy strawberry blonde hair, sea-green eyes, and porcelain skin. Bonnie's own spitting image, or it had been once, staring blankly right back at her.

It was evening. The glass was becoming opaque against the darkness outside. It was obviously Bonnie's own damn reflection.

She looked away quickly, hoping nobody had noticed her eyes go glassy and distant. She thought she’d gotten over the bad habit of seeing random reminders everywhere

Thank God for the open bar.

After that, Bonnie focused. She smiled and sipped her wine and graciously accepted compliments on her jewelry. She evaded any questions about family, boasted humbly about her colonial home in Boston, and drew back her shoulders just so, showing off her cleavage, flustering the men and making the women seethe. For a few minutes, she got a heady taste of her old status.

She was the life of the reception. She made sure of it. Everyone would go home convinced Bonnie Blair had bounced back to her magnetically charming, subtly mean, unattainably sexy self. They’d be impressed, incensed, aroused. They’d feel everything except pity.

But when it was all over, Bonnie was left with a sense of… is that all?

She lit a cigarette and lingered outside as everyone else piled in their cars to go back to their homes and families. She looked out over the student parking lot, eyes searching for one spot, two thirds of the way out, against the treeline.

That was the spot where it happened. Funny, she’d avoided it pathologically as an upperclassman. She’d tried to walk by it—once—and it had reduced her to gibbering and vomiting. But now she only saw a small, dusty patch of asphalt, no different than any space in the lot.

“Hey, Bonnie.”

She jumped, and cursed herself for it, but exhaled a calm, precise stream of smoke before she looked up.

Mark, she remembered. A potato-faced creep from the baseball team who’d used to want her more every time she turned him down. She'd never thought of him as a prospect, but it had been fun to torment him.

Well, why not?

She got in her rental and let him follow him to her hotel, and she gave him what he wanted. A predictable, violent lust flared in his eyes when she stepped close, exposed her breasts, took him by the thick wrists, and arranged his hands around her slender throat.

He shoved her down, ripped off her panties, and put it in bareback. She stared up at his twisted face as she let him huff and puff over her, pawing at her ungently, till he finished with a grunt and a pathetic little whine.

She had another smoke as she watched him button his shirt, avoiding her gaze, then check his watch and hurry home to his wife.

*

She couldn’t sleep after that. She found herself drawn back to the school, returning again to that spot in the parking lot. The asphalt was starting to crack, in need of refilling. Things were starting to grow in it.

She didn’t feel fear. She didn’t feel anything, not until hands grabbed at her out of nowhere with monstrous strength, pulling her into the bushes before she could even gasp.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she was wrestled to the ground and pinned there, her numb body flooding with adrenaline all at once. _Help_ , she tried to cry out, but she heard dance music and cheering echo in the distance, swallowing up her voice. Her cheek was pressed against the dirt. She watched two pairs of feet in pumps and brogues walk by, inches from her face, but nobody heard her panicked wheeze.

Something hissed in her ear, reverberating unnaturally loud. **“Just take the car home yourself, would you?”**

Bonnie closed her eyes and shook her head, cringing away, bracing for what she knew came next, her greatest guilt, her deepest shame.

**“Come on. Don't be a baby. I'll find a ride back.**

**_“Can’t you see I’m busy?”_ **

It was the last thing she ever said to—

When she opened her eyes, she felt that same strange alone-togetherness from the reception, but this time it stretched and expanded until the whole universe was just the two of them and their identical eyes.

Beatrice was kneeling on top of her. She was just as beautiful as she’d been that terrible night, her hair done up in loose curls and her makeup soft and pretty. But the smile she wore was harder, sardonic. And she was covered, absolutely dripping with blood.

The shock of remembering her sister had been murdered had been with Bonnie every single morning for twelve years, but it slammed into her full force in her nightmares. She shook her head wildly. _You can't. You're dead. You can't. You're dead._

Beatrice leered down and reached for her with gory hands held more like claws.

Cold fingers prised and crawled their way into her mouth, forcing her jaw open, gagging her as they pushed into her throat, crawling inside of her like worms.

*

The force of Bonnie’s orgasm jolted her awake.

She stank of sour fear. It hurt to breathe. Her throat was raw and the muscles in her abdomen ached. Her body was stiff and immobile, barely creaking the cheap springs as violent release washed through her body.

And Beatrice was still there.

Bonnie couldn’t see her face, but she always knew who it was, standing still in the corner, features too dim to distinguish, yet unmistakably watching her.

It was nothing but a change of scenery to see her silhouetted against the cheap hotel curtains and the pale streetlight outside. Bonnie tried to keep her observations clinical, to distract herself from how badly she wanted to scream. She couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away. She felt like she was was being crushed by a stone, the only sounds in the room the hum of the AC and her own harsh, shallow breathing.

It’s just a night terror, she told herself staunchly. It’s happened a hundred times. A thousand.

“Has it really?” drawled the creature, and Bonnie’s blood ran so cold it started to burn. Her hallucinations had never spoken before, not once. It wasn't the same as the dream; she’d long forgotten what it was like to hear her own voice coming out of someone else’s mouth.

“You really can’t sleep at night?” persisted the form curiously, moving closer. Her sister had always been pale, but not like this. Not translucent, not... blue-tinged.

Bonnie was getting dizzy. Her chest was painfully tight.

"Oh, sorry," said the thing, with an embarrassed scrunch of its nose, and the sensation of the stone vanished from Bonnie's chest.

She spasmed reflexively, gulping greedily for air until she choked and doubled over coughing, which only further deprived her. She was exhausted by the time her body remembered how to breathe. Her sides heaved, and she had to wipe the tears and sweat out of her eyes.

"You were thinking?" said the thing, clambering up to sit carelessly cross-legged at the foot of the bed, all knobby knees and kitten heels.

“...I have nightmares,” said Bonnie slowly, her voice ruined. This had to be another. She dearly wanted to panic, but something of the dream state was still in the room, flowing from Beatrice somehow. She felt another dose of calm hit her every time they met eyes.

“I’ll pinch you,” Beatrice offered, crawling closer. She leaned over Bonnie’s naked, unprotesting body and took her nipple between two cold fingers. She squeezed it delicately at first, experimentally, then gave it a vicious twist, as if aiming to bruise.

She grunted and arched her back. It definitely hurt.

“You really filled out, didn’t you?” Beatrice was still staring at her chest, continuing to jiggle her breasts in fascination.

She herself was still slim and coltish, never to finish puberty. And her dress...

Bonnie’s voice croaked as she tried to ask. “Are you still wearing...?”

“My prom dress?” Beatrice wrinkled her nose, which was missing the freckles she’d had in life. “No, that thing didn’t survive the night. This is a nice match though, isn’t it?” She wiggled her hips to flounce the fluffy skirt, showing off the clouds of taffeta and baring her pale, slender thighs. The dusky rose color set off her hair—their hair—nicely.

Bonnie, always the bolder one, had worn red that night.

Beatrice continued to straddle Bonnie, trailing her fingers idly across her bare skin as they regarded one another.

“I died a virgin, you know,” she said, like it was a casual thing to say, but her eyes were trained sharply on her sister’s face.

Bonnie’s lips trembled as Beatrice loomed slowly closer, finally trapping her mouth in a chaste, clammy kiss. When she pulled back it was by mere centimeters. “I wanted to make it with Jordy,” she whispered, stroking Bonnie’s cheek. “But I knew you didn’t like him. You said he was a drip. And I wanted to set a good example for you, can you believe it?”

Beatrice moved down her body, keeping her eyes locked with Bonnie’s as her pink tongue lapped at her aching nipple. The sensation shot straight to Bonnie’s groin, but she couldn’t even try to squirm away.

“You had the perfect night,” Beatrice whispered, “and in the morning I was dead.”

Bonnie drew in a ragged breath, as long as she could manage. She already knew that. But there were questions that had haunted her all this time, and she may as well ask them.

“What did he do to you?” she asked. Her own voice sounded older to her now, the chain smoking giving her a rasp even on a normal night. “The killer, I mean?”

Beatrice raised her eyebrow, looking amused. “Besides the obvious?”

“The other girls,” insisted Bonnie. “They were all. Mutilated. Y-you were the only one they never found.”

Beatrice paused. For the first time, her expression became serious, and her hawkish stare lost focus. “It’s private,” she said finally, “what happened between us. But he was... a true artist.” Her voice spoke of reverence. Bonnie felt bile rise in her throat.

Beatrice—it was too like her, its mannerisms identical, it _was_ her—raised her eyebrow expectantly in that sanctimonious way she'd always had. “Nothing to say?” she asked, raising an expectant eyebrow.

Bonnie blurted it out as though it had been pulled from her, but it could just as well have burst forth on its own. “It should’ve been me,” she said, the tears finally brimming over and pouring down her cheeks.

“It should have,” agreed Beatrice, looking surprised and pleased that she didn’t have to be told. “That’s what I thought the whole time I was dying.” She sighed philosophically, staring down at Bonnie like an appraiser finding her wanting. “What could have been, right? And we were going to go to college together.”

“I went out of state,” objected Bonnie, calmly, yet still weeping freely. “I told you I would.”

“I would’ve transferred anywhere to follow you,” Beatrice shrugged. “Without me I bet you lifted your skirt for every boy who would have you. When did you turn into such a slut, Bonnie? Tell the truth.”

Bonnie told her dead sister the truth like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I lost my virginity that night."

Beatrice's smile was thin, upset. "Good for you."

"It wasn't that great."

"But then?"

"When I realized you weren’t coming back, I made Seth do me hard. It helped for a few minutes. I cried.”

“That _dog,”_ said Beatrice, grinning. “What did you let him do to you? Play with yourself while you tell me.”

Bonnie reached down like it was her own idea and started to rub her pussy the way she did at home, not in front of men. Aggressively. “He took me from behind,” she gasped, jerking her hips to rut against her own fingers. “I liked feeling him without having to look at him. He liked it too.”

Beatrice looked pleased. “Dirty girl.” She lifted her skirt to reveal her pussy, bare of the sensible, unsexy panties she'd always used to wear. “Well, Bonnie, if that’s all you’re good for… I think we can agree that you owe me.”

Bonnie didn’t even think to argue. She opened her mouth like she was taking holy communion, and felt the damp, cool flesh settle heavy on her tongue. Beatrice started to roll her hips, riding her face with the unbridled libido of a teenager, energetically chasing her release. She seemed to take special satisfaction in smothering Bonnie and forcing tiny, obscene little grunts out of her.

“Go on,” she panted. “Moan like the shameless whore you are.”

To her horror, Bonnie heard her own voice instantly rise in a pornographic, animal wail. The more she tried to be quiet the louder she screamed, until it sounded like nothing less than torture.

Someone next door pounded on the wall.

“Anything else to say?” Beatrice gasped.

“No,” Bonnie whimpered, garbled, into her folds.

“Say it. You know it’s true.”

“No!” she sobbed.

 **“Say it,”** Beatrice commanded, her voice layered again, demonic, and she stood up on her knees like she wanted to spur her sister into a gallop.

 _“I’m a whore and it’s my fault you’re dead,”_ Bonnie screamed, and finally, finally let go.

When the guests next door grew so concerned they broke the lock to get in, they found Bonnie collapsed nude in a puddle on the carpet, her sweat-slick breasts heaving, her strawberry-blonde hair all in disarray stuck to the drool and tears on her face, still vaguely, dazedly working her hips. She could barely speak when she told them, “I had a nightmare,” her eyes wide, her ruined voice wobbling like a child’s.

*

It was the talk of brunch the next morning.

“Did you hear what happened to Bonnie Blair?”

“They said she had some kind of fit and tried to throw herself at Mark Birmingham. You know he only married Marsha last year? She was furious, the poor thing.”

“I heard she screamed like she was being… you know, _attacked,_ just like Beatrice was… but when people ran to help there was no one else there.”

“That’s so sick.”

“Well, I expect now Mark will want all kinds of shocking things from Marsha in the bedroom.”

“Sarah!”

“God, really… that poor girl.”

“Didn’t she go to prom with your fiance?”

“Shut up, Laura.”

*

That night, Bonnie Blair drove to Maiden Springs High and parked in the spot where her twin sister was presumably murdered.

She left the keys in the ignition and walked away, abandoning the vehicle.

They never found a body.


End file.
